Diary, 6/12 to 6/14/19

Copyright 2019 by Alan Carl Nicoll
All Rights Reserved

Haiku
Two naughty haiku below

{6/12/19}  Weight 222.8.

Death by tricycle:  in other words, cycling this morning “about killed me.”  I managed to persuade myself to this exertion by a simple expedient and future rule:  leave the TV off until 8 am.  On the other hand, I wish I’d eaten just a bit before setting out, because hunger resulted in temporary nausea.  And I should’ve worn shorts (I wore long pants even though the temperature warranted shorts, because I was concerned about losing unnecessary skin in case of a spill—unreasonable concern).

This was the hardest time I’ve had with the trike.  Next time might be easier, especially if it’s soon.

At the Southwest Library yesterday, I was denied access to Twitter and my blog (via WiFi), the reason being “blogs.”  Apparently the library doesn’t like blogs—a recent change.  I ran into a similar thing at McDonalds very recently.

Many dreams last night, reduced to fragments this morning, nothing worth recording.

 

{6/13/19}  Weight 222.8.  I like this trend.

And indeed, I am “working” toward this end by eating for dinner two pieces of toast.  Five days of slow weight loss.  Still, I’m up from where I was on 6/2.

No trike this morning, which I decided early.  No excuse, just don’t wanna.

Found a dead mouse in one of my glue traps.  What a cruel death!

So I finally got my bank account moved from Bank of America to a credit union.  The CU employee helping me was new on the job, and committed inaccuracies, but it seems to be straightened out.  The Barnes & Noble employee also committed inaccuracies with my coupon-discounted purchase of three books yesterday, costing me about $3.00.

Now I have to get Social Security to move my direct deposit, which will be tedious but hopefully error-free.

The books:  a Scrabble dictionary, The Penguin Book of Haiku, and something by Georges Bataille, who I had not previously heard of.  The haiku book is surprising, which is why I bought it.  I’ve never had much interest in haiku, finding them generally obscure or underwhelming, but these two:

a middle finger
trawling for some clit
her gripped clam

soft douching
with her own fingers
tenderly diddling

on page 17, well!  It’s not just dirty poetry, but also puns and jokes and so on.  Those two are from the mid-nineteenth century.  Seems like there might have been one that was a possible for Kick Me, too.

A Scrabble dictionary was essential because I got robbed when we played:  I had used “aw,” which Pablo challenged, and he won the challenge because our electronic dictionary didn’t have it.  Fortunately, as anticipated, the book lists cheaply at $8.99.  And, of course, “aw” is listed.  Scrabble is tiresome enough without having to worry about the dictionary, too.

The Bataille book is Visions of Excess:  Selected Writings, 1927-1931.  Selection titles like “The Solar Anus” and some curious illustrations piqued my curiosity.  I like weird books, at least until I try to read them.  Occasionally they pay off bigtime, like The Doris Encyclopedia, which is indeed weird, but also great.

“Russiagate”:  This word seems to be used two ways currently.  First and most obviously, it is used by almost everyone to refer to the fact that Russia interfered with the 2016 election in favor of Donald Trump.  But second, certain people who I have been listening to in the media, such as Eleanor Goldfield and Glenn Greenwald, and now Jonathan Cook in Z Magazine, mean by “Russiagate” something entirely else.  A quote:

“It may look like Russiagate was a failure, but it was actually a success.  It deflected the left’s attention from endemic corruption within the leadership of the Democratic party, which supposedly represents the left.  It rechannelled the left’s political energies instead towards the convenient bogeymen targets of Trump and Russian president Vladimir Putin.”  (John Cook:  “Three Lessons for the Left from the Mueller Inquiry,” Z Magazine, June, 2019.)

So, the “gate” in Russiagate is the bamboozlement of the progressives by the Democratic establishment.  According to Cook, the real scandal is Democratic corruption, and Trump is a “convenient bogeyman,” that is, “a frightening imaginary being” used to scare children, according to my dictionary.

Somehow, the Democratic party establishment is not where I want to be directing my ire.  Eleanor Goldfield has called “vote Blue no matter who” “stupid,” saying that we should be trying to get truly progressive independents elected.  In a tweet I said that this was stupider than stupid, or something to that effect.  What I didn’t say, but thought of later, was that voting for independents is a way to elect Republicans.

First it was Caitlin Johnstone, who I trusted enough to send $20, then abandoned with a curse over this issue.  Then Greenwald (meaning in what came to my attention), who I’ve always had a bit of uncertainty about, so I shrugged and kept an open mind about him.  Then it was Goldfield, who I had previously absolutely trusted.  Now it’s Z Magazine, of which I have a subscription.  Are all these people Russian agents or useful idiots?  Or am I the idiot for hoping-against-hope that the Dems will actually get around to impeachment?

Two important points in favor of the new Russiagate definition:  first, we’re still waiting for the Mueller Report (unredacted version); second, Speaker Pelosi has me frankly worried because she seems to be slow-walking impeachment.  So impeachment is beginning to look impossible before 2020.  But isn’t impeachment why we voted Blue?

Now, where were these people two years ago, when (their version of) Russiagate was just heating up?  I’ve been following alternative media for decades, but I seriously don’t remember a lot of flap over “Democratic corruption.”  There was some legitimate complaining about how Bernie Sanders was treated during the 2016 primaries, notably the “superdelegates,” but that’s about all.  How, then, is “Democratic corruption” what I should be worried about, when the Trump-monster does ever more monstrous, horrifying things day by day?  I smell a rat.

Goldfield’s main argument in favor of independent progressive candidates is that the Democrats promise what we want, but fail to deliver.  I agree with the premise, but not the conclusion.  This is absolutely not the year to be worrying about anything other than defeating the vile repugliKKKans.  All the Dem candidates are talking progressive; are they all shills for the corporations?  Can we expect them all to sell out the progressives?

The bad thing the Dem establishment is doing now is denying the possibility of a debate among the Presidential candidates on climate change.  Unfortunately, that’s the one issue that’s bigger than Russiagate, bigger than even Trump and the 2020 election.  In a way, it’s the only issue.  But, alas, it’s not an issue to win elections.

A quote from Barry Stevens seems relevant here:  “Actually we get mixed up in so many ways that I don’t see any way out of it but to go by our own experience, and to limit ourselves to that.”  (See Collected Quotations)  [That’s a note to myself.  The quote is from Carl Rogers & Barry Stevens:  Person to Person:  The Problem of Being Human, from 1967]  Not just by our own experience, but our own judgment as well; in which case, I must hold at bay the revisionism of Russiagate and trust what I see happening:  Trump is a monster who must be stopped.

My Weltschmerz meter is pegged today.

Now, the situation that I don’t want to think about is that my Social Security deposit will be delayed about a week because I missed some deadline for getting it transferred to my new account.  If it’s only a week, I guess that can be managed.  Grrr.  Or maybe I can just deposit something to my previous account, since I was told that I had to call customer service to close it.  That would be all right.

Saw a commercial just now for “Sandals,” some resort place.  All the guests were white, and the five servants were black.  Hmm.

It’s raining shit on the news, so it must be some day of the week.  SMDH.  I’m turning off the news and going to I don’t know what.  Go to bed and read, maybe, or maybe put on a movie.

I do not revere old stupidities.  I took a look at Huston Smith:  Why Religion Matters and found him urging on us the same old stupidities, above all that “we are in the hands of a loving God,” and that “we need to believe this,” more or less.  Most religions have nothing to offer a sensible person but similarly incorrect answers to old questions.

I sincerely regret the loss of the human species.  We meant well, most of us, even Huston Smith.

 

{6/14/19}  Weight 221.6.

No more news for hours at a stretch.  I’ll just stick with the fifteen-minute headlines of Democracy Now!.

Had to buy groceries this morning, since I had “nothing” (i.e., bread) for breakfast.  As it ends up, I’m not eating any bread for breakfast, but instead a Hostess “cherry pie,” Cheetos, a granola bar, a banana, and orange juice.  And, of course, no triking today.

The end of our democracy, the incipient war with Iran, and the coming destruction of billions through climate catastrophe—this is altogether too much for me.  These problems are essentially insoluble.  So I’m cutting out most of my daily news intake, I’ll avoid reading Noam Chomsky and the like, and maybe I’ll skip the rest of The Uninhabitable Earth for now.  In other words, I’m doing what I need to do to keep from sinking into an intolerable depression.

The thing is, climate catastrophe makes pursuit of my ordinary interests surreal.  It’s hard to read Nietzsche, or anything.  I don’t know how to cope with this, unless I already am, as in the previous paragraph.  Maybe fiction writing should be considered—I know, it’s laughable, yet sometimes I can get into it, and sometimes it nourishes me, and it’s silly, but I miss “Apple.”  [A character from the work I call “the Fynn novel.”]

I have not faced such a dilemma before.  Certainly I’ve struggled with depression, or my version of depression, many times over many years, but previously it’s always been personal—personal troubles, failures to meet my needs, mostly loneliness.  Now, if I’m any judge, loneliness is not the main problem.  Now, I’m worried.

I had a fantasy just now, an imagined conversation with he-who-shall-remain-nameless.  I was telling him that I was worried about climate catastrophe, and he was denying.  So I was thinking along these lines:  “What, the oceans aren’t full of plastic?  The species aren’t dying?  The hurricanes are a hoax?  The science is a conspiracy?  What, the prayers of the Jews during the Holocaust were effective and they didn’t all die?”  But, supposing I was persuasive:  what then?  I’ve infected him with my despair.  What a wonderful outcome!

In other words, I should not talk about this to vulnerable others, because it cannot do any good.

Copyright 2019 by Alan Carl Nicoll
All Rights Reserved

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